


Election Season

by manic_intent



Category: Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, American Politics, Dru-Zod is a moderate Republican, Established Relationship, M/M, Somehow they're happily married, That Modern Political AU where Dru-Zod and Jor-El are running mates of opposing parties, although they have fights over whether Dru gets to eat bacon, and Jor-El is a vegetarian left wing tree hugger Democrat, no seriously this fic is just silly why did I write it, which is kind of a political unicorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dru had always known that politics would ruin his life - he just hadn't exactly expected it to ruin the best part of his morning routine along with it. His hand stays frozen on the handle of his coffee cup as the morning cable news network starts rerunning clips from last night's Letterman show, and seriously, what the fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Election Season

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the MoS kinkmeme, prompt:
> 
> "So we all know that Dru and Jor want the same thing but have very different ideals  
> What if they were both politicians running against each other  
> so yeah campaign au and the running mates wanna bone let's do this" 
> 
> The prompt didn't really call for established relationship, so... um, sorry for the slight change. But they do still get distracted all the time...?
> 
> I don't know much about the intricacies of American election cycle politics, let alone whether two spouses can separately run for President in different parties (though Arnie used to be married to Maria Shriver, who is from the Kennedy family) and I originally thought about locating this in a (less) Modern AU Krypton, but then it would probably be less entertaining, so, yes. Enjoy.
> 
> Since this is a modern!our world!fic, I'm going to dispense with the weird Kryptonian surname system and just refer to General Zod as Dru instead of Dru-Zod.
> 
> And finally, WARNING: in real life, this author is an atheist left wing treehugger Democrat, aka, all of Jor-El's policies.
> 
> \--  
> 

I.

Dru had always known that politics would ruin his life - he just hadn't exactly expected it to ruin the best part of his morning routine along with it. His hand stays frozen on the handle of his coffee cup as the morning cable news network starts rerunning clips from last night's Letterman show, and seriously, what the fuck.

He repeats this sentiment out loud, and over at the kitchen, Jor half-turns from where he is making methodically precise pancakes, following the recipe to the last fucking milligram of sugar, glances at the tv, and turns back to his pan. "That was an interesting interview," Jor notes vaguely, and as usual it's beyond Dru how a man can be so pathologically obsessed with the details of a recipe printed off the Internet and yet be so blithe about something that just happened on national television yesterday. 

"You told him about last summer." Dru watches a while more. Within the recorded clip, the audience laughs as Jor flashes them a smile - it's one of his brilliantly artless ones, flirtatious without being flirty, and Dru hates it all the more because he _knows_ that Jor doesn't do artifice. For supposedly the most intelligent man in the US of A, Jor is actually a fairly simple man. "You told him about _Reno_?"

"It was a good story." Jor sets down a plate of pancakes in front of Dru, kisses him on the temple, and settles down to his own plate at the table. He's drinking organic fairtrade dishwater in the guise of tea. Dru scowls at him as he nurses his own, nuclear-strength coffee. Fuck fairtrade. If it takes the blood and tears of children to make a cup of coffee good and strong enough to allow Dru to face the world each morning, so be it.

"It's a _private_ story." 

Jor smiles gently at him and Dru hates this smile too, especially before coffee, with Jor so rumpled and dressed in one of Dru's shirts. On tv, Letterman plays one of Dru's so-called campaign gaffes, the one where he tells a particularly nosy reporter who had been squealing questions in his face for ten minutes exactly where he can fuck off and shove his microphone, and asks tv-Jor jokingly why they're married. 

"He's the love of my life," Jor replies instantly, with his mega-watt smile, and Dru scowls. Only Jor can get away with saying things like that on national tv without looking utterly stupid. 

"Drink your coffee," Jor suggests, and tries to change the channel. Dru grabs the remote, because if Jor has his way all they will ever watch in the house is National-fucking-Geographic, and watching animals humping each other always reminds Dru depressingly of Congress. 

The morning cable host makes some snide comment about Jor and Dru's home life, then it cuts back to the Letterman clips even as Jor makes a greater effort to get the remote, and probably the only thing that saves the morning is Kal, yawning as he ambles into the kitchen and settling into a chair next to Dru, his cheek pressed on the table, obviously still mostly asleep. Dru's impressed. Today, the kid's actually managed to get dressed and pack his schoolbag on autopilot. 

The distraction gives Jor the advantage - he grabs the remote and changes channel, jumping from Letterman's set to what looks like a giant mud puddle full of unselfconsciously shitting zebras, which is, Dru concedes, an improvement. Kal eats pancakes, has a glass of orange juice, and his battery gets charged from dead to neutral to perky with envious speed. It's good to be young. 

"We're going on a school trip today," Kal says, as he gets another helping of pancakes, "We're going to the Smithsonian, the Natural History bit."

"That's nice," Dru offers vaguely, and when Kal grins at him, feels obliged to offer, "Big dinosaur skeletons." He saw that on the news once.

"That's very exciting," Jor says enthusiastically, and actually means it, which sums up Jor's character in a nutshell, really. "I think you'll quite like the Behring Hall." 

"Sure," Kal decides, caught clearly between two opposing parental unit opinions and deciding to stay Switzerland, and slips off the chair. He hugs Dru, then Jor, and adds, "Letterman last night was awesome."

Dru frowns. "Why were you awake?" he growls, even as Jor grins and ruffles his hair with a, "I'm glad you think so, son." 

"Though the bit where you told Letterman that you guys 'switch'," Kal yawns, "S'not true." Dru goes very still, but oblivious, Kal adds, "You guys are always the same at home."

"What." Dru nearly drops his coffee cup. 

"Ah," Jor blinks.

"You guys always do the same chores," Kal says impatiently. "Dad cooks," he points at Jor, "Dad washes." He points at Dru. 

"Right. Course." Dru puts down his cup very carefully. "You're going to be late for school, kid."

One good thing about the Secret Service is that they also do kid school deliveries, freeing Dru to spend the last bracket of his morning free time trying to strangle his husband, who laughs like the devil and kisses him and they end up back in bed, because Dru has no self-control pre-coffee. He fucks Jor so hard that the headboard shakes the walls and Jor laughs breathlessly through it all, unshaven cheeks flushed ruddy and it's going to be Jor's fault that they're both late for work, Dru decides, and bites down hard on the back of Jor's neck when he comes. 

"I'm going on the Daily Show next Thursday," Jor tells him, as they shower hurriedly and get dressed.

"I know." Stewart had also invited Dru to come on the same show, but he had at least had the sense to decline. The man's a comedian and a Democrat, and Dru has better things to do than ham it up in front of a laugh-a-minute studio audience. 

"You should come along," Jor's fingers linger against his neck as he straightens Dru's tie, and Dru rolls his eyes. 

"Stewart's audience is firmly in your target demographic. There's no fucking point."

"He's a good man."

"He's a _comedian_."

"It'll be fun."

Dru reflects that his personal idea of fun either involves Jor and the bed or military-grade weapons, not being grilled by a Democrat comedian in front of a hostile audience, so, "No."

II.

The day doesn't improve. The morning rags are full of Letterman gossip, but at least his campaign staff knows better than to leave shit like that around the office. They look at the Ohio predictions, plan for the upcoming foreign policy primary debate, and then he spends the whole day being dragged from town halls to radio stations to photo ops.

He picks Kal up from school - Jor's off to Boston for a couple of days on a Climate Bullshit Conference: Dru does believe in climate change, but he also believes in sensible and affordable solutions - and as they head home, hemmed in by their Secret Service escort, Dru asks, "How was the museum?"

Kal glances to the front of the car, where the agents are driving/watching the road, and then back to Dru as though double checking that Jor isn't in listening distance, and then he grins. "The dinosaurs were pretty cool."

"What was in the…" Dru racks his memory for a while. "Behring hall?"

"Dunno." Kal admits, and surrogate child or not, despite Jor's best intentions, for the most part their son has turned out normal, like Dru. Kal laughs as Dru cracks a faint grin of his own in turn. "How was your day, Dad?"

"Fucking terrible," Dru drawls, since Jor isn't here to sigh and stare at him with sad and puppyish and reproachful eyes for his Language Before Children. Kal doesn't get to be the only one to reap the benefits of Jor's two-day hippie science bender, after all. 

They have extremely non-vegetarian greasy pizza and coke for dinner, and extremely crispy bacon and eggs for breakfast, just because, and a proper breakfast means that Dru is in a state close to a good mood by the time he hits the campaign office. A 24 hour news cycle means that Letterman is now old news, but unfortunately, Jor seems to have bumbled into more leeches of the reporter kind over at Boston, and seriously. 

"Why do I get asked hot button questions about my stance in the Middle East and abortion and _he_ gets asked questions about our first date?" Dru complains to his chief of staff and all round right hand woman, Faora, in the office. 

"Life isn't fair, suck it up," Faora retorts, unimpressed, which is why he hates her and which is why he employed her, and she shoves an iPad in his face. "Your day's schedule."

"No print out?"

"We're going paperless, remember? Boy scout points?"

Dru sighs. A few off-the-cuff comments about the Alaskan pipeline a few days ago had gotten the tree-huggers up in arms and caused a couple of nights of soulfully reproachful glances from Jor. "Fine. Where's our first stop?" 

"You're going to be talking to a high school about crime prevention," Faora says promptly. "Try to smile without looking like a serial killer." He snorts. "Actually," she amends, "Maybe you shouldn't try at all. Whatever. Let's just get this over and done with, then we have a photo op at lunch in a burger joint." 

"Not one of those stealth vegan places?" Dru asks, suspicious. 

"No sir." Faora replies, though she smirks. "Why would you even bother running against your husband in politics if you let him control the fridge at home, boss?"

"Fuck you, I pick my battles," Dru mutters. His home life, in his opinion, shouldn't even be brought into the political picture. Fuck reporters.

Jor calls him at lunch, when Dru is reverently finishing a steak burger with the lot. "How's Boston?" Dru asks absently, because he's a steak burger and beer full of mellow, and realizes his mistake when all the press leeches within hearing distance suddenly seem to be staring hard at their own plates. Damn.

"Boston's great, there's lots of good ideas so far and the research is exemplary," Jor launches into his excited technobabble which years of marriage has allowed Dru to tune out while still enjoying a beer, and then Jor goes, "You were pretty good in the school."

"No one cried, if that's what you mean," Dru says dryly, and Jor laughs.

"You're not that frightening." Jor's voice drops into a low purr, and Dru tries not to tense up. This means that Jor is somewhere private, while Dru is-

"I'm at a photo op."

"I know," Jor's voice echoes slightly, and he sounds a little smug. Bathroom somewhere, probably. "I really miss you."

This is the sort of sappy shit from Jor that Dru does, fine, in fact, secretly like, but not in public and definitely not in front of press leeches. "Shouldn't have gone to Boston then."

"Hmm," Jor's voice is pitching lower, into a growl, and there's a faint banging sound, as though he's locked himself into a cubicle and oh. No. Oh no. He wouldn't dare. There's a faint sound of a zipper, and fuck. Jor is an evil bastard. 

"I'm going to hang up," Dru warns, but he doesn't, because his willpower is weak after steak and beer and Jor is making this soft and breathy sound as he gets his hand down his own pants, by the sounds of it, and Dru's cock jumps in his jeans. "You are such an asshole," he mutters, and Jor laughs: the sound breaks into a moan, and Dru grits his teeth so hard that his jaw aches. 

"I'm still sore from that morning," Jor gasps, and Dru knows that sound: it's the sound that Jor always makes when he's working a finger into himself, good fucking God. "Oh, Dru-"

"Phones get tapped in this day and age," Dru hisses, hopefully too low for mikes to pick up, "You crazy bastard."

Jor's only answer is to make a thick and strangled sound that makes Dru want to bang his forehead against the sticky checkered diner tablecloth and scream. Thankfully for his sanity and dignity Faora has a survivor's instinct for trouble that has served her well during her two tours in Iraq with him and this tour so far in American high stakes politics, and she stalks over to his table - he hangs up with relief and exhales. 

"You're going red," she murmurs helpfully. Dru glares at her, but he finishes his beer, takes a photo with random civilians brave enough to chance his mood, always black when sexually frustrated. When they pile back into the campaign bus, it's not nearly soon enough, in Dru's opinion. 

He texts Jor as they go. ' _You fucking asshole._ '

It takes a minute, but then Jor replies with ' _:)_ ' which makes Dru count to ten in his mind in order to squash the impulse to want to punch Jor in the dick next time they meet. It's a near thing, and it doesn't help when some shiny young face off the press pool scoots up to him on the bus.

Faora arches an eyebrow from the seat opposite him, but Dru makes an effort to look at least neutral, if not friendly. "Yes?"

"I'm Richie Oakes from CNN," The shiny young face offers, and Dru blinks a little. Hadn't there been some other guy from CNN?

 _You made the other one cry,_ Faora mouths from her seat, and Dru internalises a sigh. Press leeches sometimes have no balls. 

"Nice to meet you, Richie," Dru says insincerely. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you had any comments about the Letterman show the other night."

Rookie. CNN must be scraping the barrel, or they really don't think much of his election chances. "Letterman's a nice guy."

"It's interesting how questions of your personal life are off-limits to you, sir, but are openly welcomed by Senator El."

"He can run his own campaign however he likes." 

"Is it because the matter of your sexual orientation continues to be a cause of concern in the Republican base?"

Dru glances at Faora, but she gives him a nearly unnoticeable shake of her head. No throwing CNN kids off the bus. Pity. "The polls indicate that I'm doing fine, son," he replies neutrally. 

"Some would suggest that it's because of your stance on hot button topics like abortion, healthcare, the environment and foreign policy, General," CNN Kid continues earnestly, "Which align more closely to Democratic policy."

"I'm a moderate Republican," Dru points out, carefully tamping down on his temper. "My ideas are informed not by party lines but by what, in my opinion, is good for my country. And _unlike_ Democrats, I think it's possible to reach some of those goals in a fiscally responsible way."

Unfortunately, that's not enough of a sound bite for CNN Kid. "Anderson Cooper mentioned yesterday that in his opinion, your husband and yourself in fact agree on all major points of policy." 

"I don't agree that the ends justify the means."

"But it's curious why you've chosen to run against each other on opposite sides of the party line rather than pool resources." 

Faora tries to catch his eye, but Dru's had enough. "Oh, for fuck's sake, kid, we're _married_ , not joined at the hip," and unfortunately, Jor chooses this moment to text him with ' ♥ ', followed by a characteristically ridiculous photo of himself grinning hugely beside Stephen Hawking. Dru belatedly shoves his phone into his suit pocket, but CNN Kid's already seen the screen - he's grinning. 

Unfortunately, this doesn't mean that the questions stop. "What do you feel about your husband being the frontrunner in the Democratic primaries?"

"I think that the Clintons and Kerry should give it up and drop out." Preferably in a car fire.

"And should you emerge as the Republican nominee," CNN Kid adds, "Are you confident of your chances running against your husband for President?"

"I don't back down from a fight." 

"Senator El told Letterman that the two of you have a vegetarian household-" 

Oh, for God's sake. "What does that have to do with running for President?" 

CNN Kid has more balls than his predecessor - he doesn't cringe from Dru's glare. "You aren't vegetarian on the campaign trail, General."

"We eat vegetarian at home because Jor cooks," Dru growls, "And he's good at it, while I'm not. Keep your questions relevant, son."

CNN Kid thankfully leaves it at that, and settles back down with the press pool. Dru's phone buzzes him again when they're nearly at the next photo op, with a random ' _:D?_ ', and annoyed, Dru replies with ' _omfg leave me alone_ '. 

Instead of getting the hint, Jor sends him another photo, this time of himself making a peace sign next to a group of young varsity girls holding up handmade signs proclaiming themselves to be part of 'General Zod's Army', all of whom look positively thrilled to be standing next to the enemy, in Dru's opinion. 

Dru rolls his eyes. He'll never understand the 18-25 year old female demographic, not even his supposed fans, despite Faora's best attempts, but they're a voting group that usually votes Democrat if they vote at all, and he's been coached on how to tolerate them. ' _Stop subverting my minions_ ,' he texts back, and gets an incoming call from Jor. 

He picks up on instinct and thankfully the phone isn't next to his ear - the tinny female shrieks that come from it are annoyingly loud even from his lap. He hangs up hurriedly, but there's a murmur from the press pool, and opposite him, Faora sighs. 

"Jor's still at Boston Uni?" She pitches her voice high enough to be heard by the press leeches. Quick thinking.

Jor sends him another photo. This time, Stephen Hawking is also in the shot, surrounded by the varsity girls, and someone's propped up a 'General Zod's Army' sign in his lap. "I'm not sure if he's doing an impromptu photo op or kidnapping Stephen Hawking," Dru mutters, and growls when Faora leans over and grabs his phone. 

"Great pic. We're tweeting that."

"Don't encourage him," Dru tells her, alarmed, but Faora leans out of reach as he makes an attempt to recover his personal property and within the hour the photo goes viral, because God hates him. 

At the end of the day CNN schedules an interview with Stephen Hawking, after Jor blithely lets fly that he has had a decade-long 'brain crush' on Hawking, and to Dru's annoyance at the next radio station he has to field questions about jealousy, of all things. Of course he's not jealous of Stephen Hawking. No, it's not fucking because the man is fucking disabled, what the hell. Good fucking Lord.

He kinda misses the hot button questions, and at the end of the day, when he goes to pick up Kal, Kal asks, industriously, "Dad, do you know Stephen Hawking?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

III.

The Stephen Hawking thing dies down in two days, thankfully, in time for the foreign policy debate, and despite his original vague misgivings Dru steamrolls his opponents and gives the press leeches enough soundbites to make sure that he dominates the political airwaves for the next 24 hours, at the least. The polls surge in his favour and even F(au)x News grudgingly has nothing too horrible to say other than rehash bitchy talking points about how he's living in Sin, or whatever. If he wins the Republican primary, he's going to be the first nominee who's also persona non grata in the Rockefeller Building.

It's a nice, warm thought, and Dru's in a good mood all the way into the late afternoon, when there's a sudden loud commotion outside his office and he steps out just in time to see Jor amble through the intern pool, dispensing cronuts and chocolates and grinning hugely. The few press leeches still mooching about are probably going to orgasm over their camera phones and twitter accounts, and Dru tries not to glare too obviously at them as he marches over, furious. 

Jor deposits the last box on the nearest desk when he gets close, and he's still grinning like a madman as Dru grabs his elbow, and Dru probably should have expected this, but he's still blindsided when Jor has the balls to just step closer and plant a kiss on his mouth. Cameras go off, and a laugh comes up that morphs into applause and a hooting cheer even as Dru surreptitiously tries and fails to pry Jor off him. For fuck's sake.

He manages to hustle Jor into his office. "We agreed about this, Jor!"

"I just came over to say that I missed you," Jor stares soulfully into his eyes, but Dru isn't fooled - he can feel Jor's cock pressed against his thigh. This is a booty call. Seriously, what the fuck. Jor has no shame.

"I would've been home in three hours, Christ."

"Mm, I know." Jor rubs against him, and Dru grabs for his hips. The office windows are opaque, thank God, but the walls are hardly soundproof, not to mention that the longer that they're alone in his office, the more the press leeches are going to revel in their bloodletting. 

"Jor, come on," Dru growls into his ear, and Jor makes a breathless, shuddering sound.

"Maybe I could just suck your dick," he whispers, and Dru has to bite down on his lip to keep himself from making an embarrassing sound. 

"Walls. Not soundproof."

"Maybe you could be quiet." 

"Maybe I could throw you out of the office. Or maybe you could go home nicely and when I get back and we put Kal to bed-"

"Maybe we could do that as a second round," Jor purrs, squirming, and God he's actually serious. Dru is doomed. 

"What's gotten into you?" Dru hisses, and sensing victory, Jor grins lazily and walks his fingers up Dru's shoulders. 

"Watched some of your debate on the plane." Lips press against his ear as Jor's voice drops further, breathy, "Your voice… Had to jerk off in the plane's bathroom."

Oh fuck. That's hot. "Maybe you should have waited," Dru growls, and Jor moans as he grabs Jor's firm ass. 

It's too loud, and they freeze, then predictably, there's a knock on the other side of the glass, and Faora drawls, muffled, "Go home, guys." 

Jor laughs. "I'll double whatever my husband is paying you, Miss Ul, if you'll come and work for me," he calls out. 

"Fuck you, go home," Faora retorts, and it's a good thing that the weather's crisp today, because that means Dru can wear his coat over his hard-on. 

He glares pointedly at the press pool on his way out, trying to indicate silently if anything at all about this incident gets printed, he will personally hang them all by the balls behind the campaign bus, and heads out, trailing Secret Service agents. 

They have two hours until they have to pick Kal up, and Dru spends most of it fucking Jor against the wall of the living room, because although Dru likes to think that he's a responsible person there's really nothing his self-control can do when Jor gets that evil mouth of his on Dru's cock. So. It's not his fault when Jor whimpers and comes all over the both of them and they make a mess in the corridor that barely misses the carpeting, fuck.

Thankfully, Kal doesn't seem to notice anything when he gets home - thank fuck for quick showers and detergent and kitchen wipes and air freshener. Dru settles down for an evening to be spent watching whatever science fiction bullshit film that Kal is currently into when Jor sighs over at the kitchen where he's prepping dinner. "Dru? Did you buy bacon?"

"Did you fly to Boston?" Dru counters, and beside him on the couch, Kal grimaces. 

"It's not even free-range," Jor whines, "Honestly, Dru."

"Non free-range bacon tastes better." The salt of misery, maybe. 

"I'm very disappointed," Jor says, in that Voice of his and Dru eyes Kal, hoping for reinforcements, but the kid just shrugs and squirms lower down in the couch. Traitor. 

"The pig was dead already?" Dru ventures, but Jor keeps up an injured silence all through dinner and the forgettable movie and at the end of it all Kal shoots Dru a long-suffering look, as though he didn't eat several rashers of bacon himself, and troops off to bed after a goodnight kiss. 

Dru may technically be a four star General, a decorated war hero - purple heart and all - he's done tours of Afghanistan and Iraq and others, but no one's perfect and above all, he can't stand Jor ignoring him. But he does at least have the residual self-respect to wait until they're in bed. 

"Look," he says finally, when Jor rolls over into a corner. "Sorry."

Jor doesn't say anything, even when Dru kisses his shoulders and neck and noses up to his ear, but when he presses a kiss to Jor's cheek he gets a little shudder. He works at it as patiently as he can, with butterfly kisses and licks until Jor finally rolls onto his back, his gorgeous eyes narrowed slightly. "We had an agreement."

"We also had an agreement about my office," Dru points out evenly, though he brushes a kiss over Jor's mouth as he says it. "Are we seriously going to have a fight over bacon?"

"The unethical treatment of factory-farm animals is a serious issue, Dru."

"Right." He's too tired for this and he has a morning talk show to attend in another state, which means waking up at an ungodly hour in the morning. "Can we skip the fight? I'll buy the free-range shit in the future when you're not here." 

That probably came out wrong - Jor glowers at him. "Dru."

"Or at least postpone the fight." Dru squints at the bedside clock. "I have to be in Seattle in the morning."

"You can do whatever you like," Jor retorts, making as if to turn over again, but Dru pins him to the bed by his shoulders. He won't be able to sleep knowing that Jor's curled in one of his bitchfits in a corner of the bed, and he needs sleep. 

"How is it that we can agree over all our major talking points in politics but not on bacon?"

"Well," Jor frowns at him, and then, as Dru thought he would, his lips twitch, and then he starts smiling ruefully and his hands skate up Dru's arms. "All right, if you put it that way."

"Exactly."

"It's still a serious issue."

"I know." He still gets a kiss though. Dru chalks this up as a win.

"And you're going to make it up to me."

Dru yawns, glancing at the clock. "Fine."

"By coming with me on to the Daily Show next Thursday." 

Dru almost agrees on autopilot, but he has good reflexes. "What." Jor smiles at him innocently. "No."

"Well then, if you must continue to be difficult," Jor informs him, trying to squirm out from under his hands.

"Are you seriously blackmailing me?"

"Not in the least. It's entirely up to you."

"You are such an asshole," Dru groans.

IV.

A week is a long time in politics, and thankfully, having learned from the last fucked up, drag down, long assed Republican disaster of a primary, the other contenders concede after a week's worth of damaging gaffes and random sex scandals. His party is a joke, and Dru sometimes wonders if he can get away with loosing Dick Cheney with a shotgun in the Convention. Probably not.

What's really surprising, however, is that Kerry and Clinton also concede. The polls _had_ been putting Jor ahead, but considering the last time the Clintons had jumped into a political cage match they had hung on to the bloody end, this seemed uncharacteristic. Maybe they finally had a bit of prescience. The Clintons fight with political mud-slinging, much of it untrue or out of context, and although Jor laughs it off, Dru had been seriously considering mailing the Clintons a car bomb or something over the last few weeks.

Jon Stewart is ecstatic. This means that he's unintentionally scored the nominees of both major parties for an exclusive, a cable news coup, and Dru watches the ribbing backstage with Jor - Indecision 2016 indeed - with a scowl. The man is seriously unfunny. Naturally, Jor laughs along with the jokes, even the ones speculating about their sex lives. 

"We're not on camera yet," Dru points out. "You don't have to laugh."

"He's funny," Jor tells Dru, "And he's very nice in person."

"Maybe to a Democrat." 

"We're on," Jor glances up at the stage manager, and Dru sighs.

"I didn't think that you would actually get General Zod to agree to appear on my show," Stewart greets Jor effusively across from his desk, as they settle down opposite him. 

"He had to make something up to me," Jor grins, because the man has no mental filter between what's private and public sometimes.

"And what was that?" 

Jor explains blithely about the bacon despite Dru's glower, and the audience laughs, and Dru wishes he was back in Afghanistan. Things were simpler there. At least if the other fucker is laughing at you, you could shoot him in the balls. 

"Some would say," Stewart grins at the end, "That maybe this political thing between the two of you, maybe, just saying, is kinda an ongoing marital spat thing blown up over national and cable television."

"We agree on the broad picture," Dru says flatly, because a ridiculous not-question deserves a political not-answer, "Just not the details." 

They debate politics for a while, which is kind of… refreshing, actually. No one's asking him about what he thinks of the Bible and homosexuality, or the religious significance of pro-choice laws, or the huge slew of idiotic questions he gets from the right-wing media. It's actually… nice. Because he's feeling mellow, he mentions it. 

"No one's asked him about whether he can lead America as a gay Republican," Jor explains, when Stewart actually looks a little confused.

"Well then," Stewart laughs, "I'll bite. Can you lead America as a gay Republican, General? Seriously, you're like a political unicorn. You're married to a Democrat Senator - you're a four star General with no strange scandals, you're a war hero, _and_ you're a moderate Republican. Are you sure that you shouldn't be running as an Independent?"

"Maybe the world needs a new breed of Republican," Dru retorts, and regrets that comment a little once it leaves his mouth. It's going to be all over F(au)x News tomorrow. Oh well. In for a penny, out for a pound. "One who doesn't spend his free time texting pictures of his dick to women."

The studio audience _oohs_ , and Jor laughs. "I did ask him to register as a Democrat." 

"Your party's pathetic. When you lot were in power, all you could do was bitch at each other and lose control of the steering," Dru points out, because if he's going to have to come out swinging then he isn't going to spare the actual enemy party. "The last four years were like watching a fucking train wreck."

"This entire segment is going to be so much less coherent when it's posted online and fucking censored," Stewart leans forward with a mad grin, probably sensing blood. "You were one of the few Republicans who usually was in favor of major Obama policies." 

"Good man," Dru agrees, "But the ship he was running was fucked." Dru smirks as Stewart winces slightly - the audience laughs. This might actually be fun. 

"Even on the matter of gun control. You lost your NRA stars after that."

Dru snorts. "Do I give a fuck about what a bunch of gun manufacturers think? I like guns. I still have my service piece, my Beretta M9. I've fired a hell of a lot of them during my service. Anyone who thinks that 'guns don't kill people, people kill people' is a good excuse to allow near-military-grade weapons into civilian hands has never fired at anything more dangerous than some poor dumb animal in the woods."

"But you don't keep guns in the house," Stewart prompts. 

"We've got a kid in the house," Dru points out. "And he has one of his fathers' love of deconstructing shit to see how they tick, just saying." 

"I only deconstructed that coffee machine _once_ ," Jor disagrees, sounding injured, though he smiles. 

"Yeah, on a fucking Monday morning. You see what I have to live with?" 

Audience laughs. Stewart laughs too, which is a bit of a relief, until he sneaks up with another dangerous question. "So you think that people with kids shouldn't have guns in the house?"

"I think that anyone dumb enough to get past Secret Service and rob my house will find that I'm a close combat specialist," Dru says evasively, "And I'm just as good with knives as I am with a gun." 

Stewart does the whole comedy routine of leaning away and looking frightened, and then as Dru almost rolls his eyes, he comes back with a quick, "But if you weren't?" 

Thankfully, Jor takes this one. "I wouldn't approve of a gun in the house," he says firmly. "Dru's service piece is in his father's house."

They talk politics for a bit more, and as the show winds up and Dru's getting relaxed, Stewart drawls, "The two of you met in the Pentagon, didn't you?"

"I was contracted briefly to consult on a defence project," Jor nods.

"So what drew you to General Zod here, Jor? It can't be his, ah, diplomatic skills."

Jor grins wickedly, a warning sign that he's about to say something outrageous on cable television. "He looks really good in uniform, Jon."

Oh, for fuck's sake. And of course Stewart has photographs. Dru stares at the audience, unimpressed by the catcalls, but they're undeterred. "He stalked me for weeks," he offers, by way of revenge.

"He wouldn't answer my calls." On hindsight, that isn't going to embarrass Jor in the least.

"I was considering a restraining order at one point." 

"I'm beginning to suspect," Stewart grins, "That this entire half year political season was pretty much all about who _doesn't_ have to be known for four years as the First Husband."

"You've caught us out there," Jor notes archly, and the show ends on a high note that gets better on the way home when Jor sneaks a glance at the opaque Secret Service driver window and goes down on Dru in the car.

Kal is waiting for them when they get home, all pumped up on adrenaline and demanding to know whether Jor was going to keep his promise made on the Daily Show about the puppy that they were going to get when they get to the White House. "Whoever wins picks the dog," Jor repeats, amused.

"So maybe you should tell your classmates to tell their parents to vote for me," Dru adds dryly, because Jor will get some sort of rat-sized harmless rescue dog, while Dru's more interested in a real dog. A Malinois, perhaps, or a German or Dutch Shepherd. Kal and Dru also agree on dogs, another sign of sanity.

"Sure," Kal perks up. "Deal."

"I thought we agreed that our son was off limits," Jor points out, though he grins, and he still has that gleam in his eye, so they pack Kal off to bed quickly, but to Dru's surprise and annoyance they end up on the couch. Jor breaks out of a bottle of red, and they sit curled on the scratched leather until he stops squirming.

This is nice, too. 

"Haven't done this for a while," Jor echoes his thoughts, as he finishes his glass and props it on the coffee table beside Dru's.

"Someone decided to run for President."

"Could say the same for you."

"I was first," Dru retorts, though he's comfortable enough with Jor in his arms not to put any bite to it. "You could have been the nice, supportive spouse."

Jor snorts, though he snuggles closer when Dru kisses his temple absently. "No more than you would have been in my shoes, although," he adds, rolling to look up at Dru, "When I make President, I propose a truce."

"When _you_ make President, hn?"

"Whichever of us makes President," Jor corrects, though he smirks a little condescendingly, the asshole.

"That depends on whether you're going to enforce this no-bacon policy in the White House," Dru says, with a perfectly straight face, and Jor glares at him for a long moment before he grins and squirms up to kiss him: it's lopsided and their teeth catch for a moment before they slot in place, Jor's arms around his shoulders and Dru's over Jor's waist. 

This is already their victory, and the world will change to meet them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you'll like to talk about ficbunnies etc, you can find me on twitter @manic_intent ;3
> 
> Edit: Fanart for Election Season! :) [[here](http://pancakesandplaid.tumblr.com/post/60423960011)]  
> Edit 2: Brief drabble continuation here http://manic-intent.tumblr.com/post/143576205859/jordru-more-domestic-drama-in-the-elzod  
> Edit 3: And a post-2016 election continuation http://manic-intent.tumblr.com/post/153036383714/fic-republic


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